


A Rat, A Hog, And An Explosive Sleeping Bag

by SupposedToBeWriting



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Annoyed Traveling Buddies to Bosom Buddies, Another How Junkrat Lost His Leg Fic, First Meetings, Friendship, Gen, Hog Just Wants Some Peace and Quiet, M/M, Rat Has An Overinflated View Of Himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupposedToBeWriting/pseuds/SupposedToBeWriting
Summary: Only a few weeks into their partnership, Rat predicts Hog is going to smother him in his sleep and steal all their money and Hog has to restrain himself from smothering him in his sleep and stealing all their money. However, a volatile accident leads the two to realize that friendship can bloom, even after the apocalypse.





	A Rat, A Hog, And An Explosive Sleeping Bag

Jamie always fancied himself to be a real people person.

He supposed it was a natural gift. Ever since he was a little anklebiter darting in between the crowds in Junkertown underneath the hazy smog, he’d had the gift of gab. People just seemed _naturally_ drawn to him, and whatever issues his big mouth got him into, his big mouth got him out of.

Which explained, as his eyes drifted over to his sleeping companion, the newest addition to the single-serve Jamison Fawkes travelling party of one.

Jamie always volunteered to do first shift watch, on account on never being able to sleep until the sun was turtling out of the asscrack of the Earth. He was sitting cross-legged in their make-do camp, bits and pieces of nuts and bolts thrown in a haphazard circle. Honestly, he always liked to sit with a lot of _stuff_ surrounding him. Sitting in the middle of nothing left him twitchy. There were a lot of things in his life that left him twitchy.

Hog was snoring again. He _always_ snored. At first, it had pissed Jamie off something fierce, because _what the hell, some people are tryna get a little shuteye around here, mate,_ but Hog was also the soundest sleeper Jamie had ever seen. No amount of thrown food, trash, or prosthetic arms could rouse the hog from his slumber.

As he listened to him snore, though, Jamie found that he was getting used to having company. Rat had a lot of great ideas, after all, and it was even better to bounce them (sometimes literally) off of somebody. And even the snoring, well – he was starting to like the noise.

Still, though, there was an entire bloody _continent_ between _like_ and _trust,_ and he sure as hell didn’t trust the guy who wouldn’t even show his face.

It wasn’t nothing personal, just how things had to be. There were only _three_ things people cared about in the Outback, and that was _money_ and _not dying,_ and the first one usually overrode the second. And they had been running into a lot of money, recently, because holy hell, Hog just scared the Queen’s gold out of people.

He’d had to negotiate real carefully to keep things civil. Not only was Rat a charismatic socialite, he was also a skilled negotiator. Whenever they got money, he counted it out in front of Hog. Hog took his share, put it in his Very Secret Box That Rat Had Only Tried To Break Into Twice But Had Been Caught Twice, and then Jamie took his share. He liked to stuff the money in a special bag and hold it at night. Made him feel all warm and fuzzy, and now he _knew_ Hog wasn’t pilfering some in the middle of the night.

Jamie had started to wonder, though, if they _really_ hit pay dirt, what was stopping the big whopper from crushing his skull and taking everything.

Nothing. That was the answer. Nothing was stopping him, and Jamie had started to stockpile dynamite just in case he needed a _quick-and-dirty_ exit. Nothing ever lasted forever, so it wasn’t worth getting attached to people, including a _very_ homicidal _probably_ insane mountain of a man.  The old folks down at Junkertown always said that after the outback started to get all wonky, friends went out of style. Which suited Jamie just fine, because he never had any of those _anyway._

It would be a damn shame when Hog finally tried to kill him, but it wouldn’t be the first time Rat would get royally fucked over by a travel-buddy. And maybe, if he kept paying the silent giant, he’d be strung along for a little while. Still, it was hard to tell how long a ‘little while’ would be. Rat wasn’t a mind-reader, and he couldn’t tell whether Hog was miserable or pleased as punch to be there.  He’d heard him say _maybe_ five words in all their time together.

That wasn’t a high concern, though. As said, Rat was a real people person. He knew what Hog meant, most of the time. Not like it was any more complicated than _stop, go,_ and _you idiot,_ anyway.

It’d be nice to have a name, maybe, but _Roadhog_ worked just as well as _Tim_ or _Tits._ Besides, Rat figured, you weren’t supposed to name animals, you’d start getting attached. _What if his name was Piggy? Oinker?_ The thought sent Rat reeling with laughter. _Oinker the Junker!_

After a few minutes of frantic giggling, Jamie stopped the scrapwork in favor of looking at his bodyguard with a curious eye. Why did he have to _sleep_ with the mask on?  

Suddenly, Hog’s entire body twitched, once, and then Hog sat straight up like he’d been laying on a springboard.

“ _Sonofacockwearabell,”_ Jamie yelped, jumping to his feet. _Alright,_ maybe he wasn’t entirely used to the creepy mask yet, and he felt like asking for _slow_ movements _might_ be a little much. Silently, Hog turned his body to look at him, and Rat wanted to thank him for the doubtless nightmares he was gonna have that night of being strangled by a man in a radiation mask.

Still, Rat could figure out what he meant. He always did this; Rat didn’t know why he hadn’t gotten used to it by now. Maybe because it was still _real fuckin’ weird._ Hog’s signal was clear: _My turn for watch._

“Alright, well, time to turn in for the night. Morning,” Jamie corrected himself, stretching and letting out a dramatic yawn. He half-crawled his way over to his bag, half-covered in metal as it was, and got himself comfortable. His dynamite stuffed pillow bag had to be punched a few times to become comfortable. “Now, if anything happens and you want some extra muscle, you wake me up. ‘Kay, Roadie?”

Nothin’. Not even a twitch. Spooky.

Propping himself up on his moneybag, Jamie thought he’d offer an olive branch. Even a small one.

“Y’know, I thought travelling with another mate would be a real drag,” he drawled, watching how the eyes of Hog’s mask reflected the fire. “But this has been _all right,_ by my book. I can see this being a real thing, you and I.” He fell back on his pillow to stare up at the sky. There was always something Jamie liked about the big black nothingness up there. It was like his own personal blank chalkboard, provided there weren’t any radiation clouds rolling in. “Junkrat and Roadhog, Wasteland, uh … “

He tried to think about the books he had when he was smaller, the dingy, ratty things he’d kept in a crawlspace before they’d gotten eaten by the rats. Or stolen. Or accidentally pissed on.

“Wasteland Marauders, maybe?”

Twisting his head to look at the Hog, he saw that the man had sat and was staring forward into the wilderness. Stone-faced. Stone-masked. There was no sound but the crackling of fire and Hog’s heavy breathing.

Unhelpful. And here he was, trying to be nice to some guy he didn’t know from Tuesday.

“Work in progress, work in progress,” Jamie waved him off, returning back to his bag. “I should grab a few winks. Should be in tip-top-fighting-shape in case you need me. Nighty-night, Hog.” With that, Jamie turned onto his side and curled into himself. He brought his knees to his chest, letting his face rest against them. In the middle of the Junkrat-shaped-ball was his moneybag, with a few extra sticks of dynamite stuffed underneath his head for safe-ty and safe-keeping. To the entire outside world, Jamison Fawkes was just a circular lump in the middle of the Australian Outback.

 

***

Mako heard them before he saw them.

It was the slow, rolling sound of machinery. Different from the buzz of the Outback. His eyesight wasn’t the best in the mask, but god damn, if he hadn’t heard that sound a thousand times before. And it still made the hairs on his neck raise every time.

There was the chance they could be friendly Omnics. He knew that not all Omnics rolled around killing everyone in their sight, but enough of ‘em did that it didn’t matter anymore. Or maybe the radiation affected them the same way it affected everyone else.

Bruce had said once that the crisis had made everyone in Australia go crazy. Mako disagreed. It had made people desperate, and made people realize they had nothing else to lose, but it was pretty much the same thing.

He reached for his gun and slowly, slowly stood.

For a second, his eyes dropped down to the sleeping, twitching man. _No,_ he decided immediately, _I’ve dealt with enough Rat for one day._

Rat was a young man still, had probably only been a few years old when the Omnium got destroyed. That was fine. He was also annoying, clingy, arrogant, insane, dangerous, and absolutely, fundamentally the most _cloying_ person that Hog had ever met. Every second was like nails on a chalkboard, and if it weren’t for the money, he’d be out of there in a second. He just needed to _stop_ talking.

Rat had been twitchy with the money, too, like he expected Hog to grab it and run. That wasn’t in the plan. Mako didn’t like doing that, didn’t like pissing people off unnecessarily, and right now, he couldn’t find a better plan than following Rat across the Outback.

Plus, Rat _was_ good with the schemes. He had to admit that. Even if he pissed people off more than charmed them, he was persistent. And there was something to be said about, uh, optimism.

Taking his gun, Mako started to approach the machines. They had just rolled over the hill, obscured by the low-lying smog of the wasteland. Couple of Bastion units, it looked like, nothing too impressive. He was surprised they were still around. No omniums left to work on them; most of them were rusted up and useless.

He’d rather omnics than Junkers. Less messy.

One shot would be a good start. Hog got closer, until he could see their rusted-up parts, aimed his shotgun in the general direction, and fired. Hog had been close enough where they could have attacked if they wanted to. They hadn’t.

The scattershot sprayed across the Bastion’s hull, a dense _duh-duh-duh-duh-duh_ ringing out across the clearing.

Behind him, back at camp, Hog heard a screech. He sighed in defeat. _God damn it._

_“I TOLD YOU TO WAKE ME UP, ROADIE!”_

Over Roadhog’s head, he saw a few of the Rat’s bombs sail and directly impact one of the Bastions. There was a half-second of furious ringing before the bombs detonated.

Two of the Bations were ripped apart immediately, sending out enough shrapnel that Hog felt it bounce uselessly against his mask. Everything had taken place in less than a minute.

OK, he had to admit that the Rat’s technical work was … impressive. He’d even taken a look at his shotgun, once upon a time, and made a few improvements under Hog’s ever-watchful eye. He didn’t know how the man could do so much with literal scraps, but shit, Rat was good at that.

If only he was a bit easier to be around.

The only remaining Bastion whirred to turn towards them, and Hog reached for his hook. If he just got it closer, he could do it, it was just hard to see in the dark –

Damn it. He hadn’t been fast enough. The turret whipped towards him, and Hog dove to the side. With an _‘oomph!’_ and a cloud of dust, Hog pushed himself behind a rock while he could get his bearings.

The Bastion shot anyway, sending out a flurry of bullets where he’d been standing. It kicked up a swirl of dust. _Well. Good._ He might’ve been tough, but he wasn’t bulletproof.

He turned around to look at camp, to make sure that the Rat knew that he _also_ wasn’t bulletproof. Hog wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting (besides a screeching Rat, maybe), but a damn near supernova coming from camp hadn’t been it.

The rush of heat and light was enough to press him against the rock. Hog ducked his head, waiting for the worst of it to be over.

Where the _fuck_ did the Rat get that much dynamite? And why had he been keeping that much in the first place? So close to the camp? The fucking _idiot._

If the Bastion was stunned by the lightshow, it wasn’t for long. Hog ducked back down behind the little rock outcropping and perked an ear.

No crazy laugh. No sound of a match being lit, or Rat scrambling to his feet. No stupid catchphrases.

Uh-oh.

Pushing himself up, Hog removed his hook from its holster and  threw it towards the Omnic. The resulting ‘ _clink!’_ as it got tethered around the turret confirmed a direct hit, and he yanked the machine forward. Bastions weren’t exactly known for their balance.

With his free hand, he fumbled his shotgun forward and shot it three times. After the second shot, the Bastion fell.

Three more Omnics dead. Good. Hog turned around, half-expecting to hear Rat crowing about how he’d gotten one more kill than Hog had. There was silence, only the crackling of fire by their campside – though it looked like the blast had ignited a bit of brush, too.

And nothing from Junkrat. Junkrat didn’t _do_ silence.

Holstering his gun and the hook, Hog walked back to the fire. For a horrifying second, Hog just couldn’t find him. Had he been blown to pieces? But there’d been no blood. No scream.  It was hard to find _anything_ in their campsite, blown to shit as it was, but still, Rat was not a _small_ guy. Skinny as a rail, but not _small._

Hog saw a glint of metal. A hand. _Fuck._

Whether he’d been blown back there or decided to go there to hide, Hog had no idea. But, as he approached the rocks on the side of camp, he saw Rat, black with soot and entirely unconscious. He was bleeding. Bad. His leg looked like it’d gotten the worst of it – it was twisted the wrong way, had already bled through his pants, and it looked like he hadn’t escaped the shrapnel.

Infection was a real danger out here, even for a second.

From behind the mask, Hog had no idea if he was breathing or not. A bit of blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth.

_Shit._

Looking over his shoulder, Hog saw his moneybox near his bedroll. A little ways away from camp, he could see the glint of Rat’s moneybag in a little pile of dust.

The survival part of him, the part that had made it through the initial round of radiation, told him that there was nothing stopping him from running. Alive or not, Rat needed medical help and Hog was no doctor. And if he took the money now and left him, Rat wouldn’t be coming after him anytime soon. He could get out of this all the richer, and get back to Junkertown a few miles away.

Junkertown, a few miles away. They had medical care there. Not great, but there. They had treated Junkrat’s antics a couple of times.

Mako dropped his head to look at Junkrat again. Even if he _did_ get him back there, how long would he be out of commission? No money, there. And he sure as hell wasn’t a babysitter.

“Rat,” he breathed, toeing up his thin arm with his foot and letting it fall. No reaction.

He thought about taking the goods and booking it. Going to the roads on his own. Being alone on the roads didn’t hurt as much as it did when he first started. Once he’d resigned himself to dying alone, with nobody to do so much as give him a grave, it’d gotten easier. He’d gotten quieter and quieter, until he didn’t speak at all.

Everyone else he’d run into had either shot on sight or tried to rob him (and gotten quickly dispatched), or tried to avoid him altogether. Hog didn’t fault them. He knew how he looked.

And Rat, for all of his annoying, insane tendencies, talked with him like he’d known him for years. Like they were best friends just because they slept in the same camp. The thought of going alone, again, even if he wanted to strangle Rat constantly … wasn’t great.

 _Is this what Stockholm Syndrome is?_ Mako thought as he leaned down, grasping Rat by his belt. _I think this is what Stockholm Syndrome is._

He straightened, with the intent to throw Rat on his shoulder. Mako underestimated his weight, because the _fuck,_ Rat was a scrawnier guy than he thought. Instead, Rat went sailing _over_ his shoulder, landing with another thump right behind Hog.

Mako turned around at where Rat had fallen in a heap. “Sorry,” he apologized awkwardly, reaching to grab his belt again. This time, he carefully arranged Rat on his shoulder. One hand pressed against Rat’s back to keep him there, like he was carrying a large rug. He was pretty sure some of Rat’s blood was getting on him.

After securing his box and Rat’s bag, Mako turned to Junkertown. In the dust, he couldn’t very far ahead of him. Hopefully he was heading in the right direction. He paused, grunted, and then started to walk.

***

 _That had been a one-in-a-million shot!_ Jamie was almost proud of it, if it hadn’t hurt quite so bad _and_ if it hadn’t come from a bucket of bolts. That fireball really had been something, though. Trying to remember too much made his head hurt, though, so he’d have to recreate it. Later. Maybe bigger.

Wait. _Hang on a mo. This ain’t my bedroll._

And there was … lights. And windows. And a roof.

Jamie startled completely awake, bolting straight up. _Where the bloody hell am I._ He pressed his hands against his chest, making sure that all of his organs were where they needed to be, took stock of his prosthetic arm, and then –

Oh. He was missing a leg. Now that he saw it, he _did_ remember that leg hurting something awful before he passed out. Well, that was a fuckin’ shame, he was going to get a tattoo there. And now he’d have to build a prosthesis, which wasn’t _hard,_ but wasn’t exactly _fun._ Maybe he’d just stick a pegleg up there and be done with it.

He didn’t particularly mind that he was missing a leg. Half the Junkers were missing an eye or a heart or a toenail. With all the fighting that went on, plus all the substandard hygiene, _plus_ all the radiation … Rat had never gotten all that attached to his own limbs.

After taking stock of his missing leg, Rat stared up at the walls. It hit him immediately. _Fuck me, this is Junkertown._

 _How the fuck did I get to Junkertown? We were two miles out, easy._ His eyes followed their natural path until he saw the mass that was taking up most of the entire corner of the room.

Roadhog. Sleeping soundly, mask tilted back, and oh, yeah, _that_ was what that snoring sound was coming from.

It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together, but Rat still felt like he couldn’t believe it.

 _Hog … brought me here? And he didn’t take the money and run?_ His eyes fell to the moneybag that Hog was clutching to his chest. _Maybe he did take the money. Screw this fuckin’ bogan, I bet he did!_

Rat tried to reach over the bed to take the bag, but he didn’t quite have the reach for it. _Damn._ For a second, he rooted around his bed for something to extend his reach, before his eyes fell to his prosthetic arm. “Knew you were good for something,” Rat told his arm, unscrewing it with his meat hand. He gripped the base of it and leaned over the bed again. “Come on, come _on,”_ he muttered under his breath as he managed to hook the bag. “Gotcha.” It was deposited and emptied on the bed after he screwed his arm back into place.

There was Hog’s moneybox, locked still. But the rest of his money, every coin, was right here in the moneybag. Hog hadn’t taken a single cent. Not even a finder’s fee.

Jamie looked over at his companion with a suspicious eyebrow. For once, he was speechless. What the hell was this play? Why would Hog drag him from the jaws of death and deposit him into the warm, flea-infested embrace of Junkertown General?

The gears turned and turned in his head, until something finally clicked into place.

Finally, a wide grin spread across his face.

“You _like_ me,” Jamie told the unconscious man smugly, pressing one hand against his own chest. “Well, good! And why shouldn’t you? I’m a _delight.”_

He was _liked._ He had a _friend_ who would _didn’t want to kill him._

Well, today was a very good day indeed. Minus having to build a leg prosthetic whenever he got a second. Oh, and losing a leg, that was never good, he didn’t have _all_ that many limbs to go around. But he’d work on it. Just had to get out of here, maybe Hog could pinch a crutch for him, because Hog was his _friend_ and friends stole things for one another.

And _maybe_ he had judged him just a hair too hard. After all, plenty of people were weirder than a man in a pig-radiation mask that didn’t talk, right? And maybe he was a little rough around the edges, but it just lent to his charm. They were quite a pair.

“Y’know,” Rat told him, crossing his arms behind his head, “I think it’s quite alright that I’m your friend, Roadie, because you know what? I like you, too. You’re alright. And we’re gonna make it rich, the both of us. Junkrat and his devilish minion, Roadhog.”

***

Mako waited at attention while the Rat did … _fuck,_ he had no idea. He never had any fucking idea what Rat was doing. A few days in the hospital and he still had no goddamn idea what rattled around his mind.

“Just a little – and a little – and just a _pinch_ of – “ He was muttering to himself as he scurried between workbench and workbench. Mako had already done the job of looting anything halfway expensive, thrown in a large bag around his shoulder.

Maybe breaking into one of the bigger warehouses in Junkertown wasn’t the _best_ idea. They were on thin ice with the Queen already. But Rat had had crazier ideas than this, and besides, once this was done – they were out of here.

Rat was hunched over a workbench on something, covering it so entirely that Mako didn’t have any damn idea what it was. At least there _was_ plenty of metal here; he was pretty sure they made weapons and armor for the Scrapyard.

“And … yes!” Rat finally straightened up, clutching something in his hands. Huh. No explosion. _That_ was a first. “Hog! Come give me a hand!”

When Mako refused to move from his position, Rat sighed and turned around. In one arm, he was still leaning on the crutch that Mako had snatched for him before they left Junkertown General. It really hadn’t been hard to manage. Junkertown General was more of a shack than an actual hospital.

In his other, he held a … staff? Some sort of hitting stick?

“You really never wanna make it easy for me, do you?” Rat accused him, limping his way over with the crutch. Placing a hand on Mako’s chest to steady himself, Mako watched as Rat took the peg-leg and strapped it to where his leg had once been.

Oh. Huh, yeah, that would … make sense. It seemed a lot more non-violent than most of Rat’s creations. He stood steady as Rat balanced on him, and finally, Rat dropped the crutch.

“Well, wouldya look at that.” Placing all of his weight on the pegleg, Rat took a few experimental steps, and then a skip, and then a full-on jump. “Hog! Throw me against the wall! I wanna see if I stick. Like a dart in a _board!_ ”

Mako paused, considered, and then gave a firm shake of his head.

“Oh, you’re no fun at all, you know that? Real – “ Pushing himself onto a workbench, Rat waggled his pegleg at  him in a disturbing fashion. “Stick in the mud?”

It was enough to send Rat into a cascade of giggling, both arms wrapped around his stomach as he nearly fell off the bench. It was a stupid fucking joke, and Mako usually had better self control, but he found himself relaxing and muttering, “…Heh.”

“Knew I could get a laugh out of you. I’m a bloody riot, you must be choking yourself in that mask to not laugh at all of my jokes.” Pushing himself off the workbench, Rat reached for his moneybag and threw it over his shoulder. It was lighter, now, a stop at Bruce’s for supplies and scrap had managed that. They’d have to refill their coffers, soon. But if he knew Rat, a new idea was already on the horizon. “So, whaddaya say? Am I still the most handsome bugger this side of the Queen’s territory?”

Mako stood silently, staring down at him. Rat had started to look him more in the eyes since he’d woken up in the hospital, which was a strange development. Not that he was grumpy before ( _god,_ he wished Rat had the potential to be less friendly), but now, he joked and swaggered more than ever.

It didn’t make Mako want to choke him as much as it usually did. Carting him through a few miles of wasteland, feeling him whimper and moan against his shoulder … fuck, he’d been worried about losing him, and that was as much of a development as Rat losing his leg.

“I knew it! Thanks for always fluffing up my ego, Roadie.” As Rat walked towards the entrance of the warehouse, Mako noticed that the pegleg didn’t quite fit. Rat was walking with a limp and a stagger. He almost wanted to tell him, maybe by hitting him over the shoulder and showing him how off his balance was.

But, hell, it didn’t seem to bother Rat at all. And Mako figured that, right then, it didn’t matter all that much.

Rat stood in the back exit of the warehouse, peeking outside to make sure their escape routes were clear. The sun shined down onto his face. He had to squint, one hand firm on his gun in case they needed to make a quick getaway. His lips were split in a half-sneer.

 _Yeah,_ Mako considered, _this isn’t a bad way to travel._

“Alright, good buddy,” Rat announced, turning away from the door to look at Mako. “We’re in the clear. Let’s blow! When we get out of Junker, I’ve _got_ to tell you the best idea I had when I was building this toothpick.”

Hefting his shotgun out of its holster, Mako gave silence as his answer and followed the Rat.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is definitely interesting to write from a character perspective. There's Jamie, who talks in these very distinct patterns, and then there's Mako, who ... doesn't. Plus, there's always the interesting idea of Jamie knowing what Mako's saying even without him saying so, and the questions of, well, does he know that right away or does it take time, and how much is Jamie really knowing what Mako's saying and how much is Jamie just assuming what he's saying. It's kind of a cool balance to explore. Pretty sure Mako only says three words in this fic? Which was a wild challenge. 
> 
> Either way, I think they're a cool duo to write about, especially in their 'early years' pre-Overwatch. Thanks for reading!


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